How to Knit a Heart Back Home Read Online Free PDF Page B

though. Now he remembered Lucy Harrison.
    Elbert Romo cleared his throat from behind them. “It’s more of a cottage, really. Way more house than someone like you needs.”
    Owen nodded, using an amazing feat of will to look away from Lucy’s mouth. “It sounds perfect, actually.”
    Greta, who had been very quiet until now, said, “I know a very nice bed-and-breakfast run by a friend of mine who’s always looking for a man around the house to help her with things. I bet she’d even give you a discount. Lucy’s right, her little place is better suited to younger people.”
    Mildred’s voice cut Greta off. “Lucy won’t rent to Owen. That’s enough of that.”
    Owen raised his shoulders. “Well, considering I haven’t even seen it yet, maybe I could just do that.”
    “Out of the question,” said Mildred, pushing her chair in to the table with a thud. “You’re just not what she’s looking for.”
    Mildred’s voice buzzed like an insect, but Owen kept his eyes on Lucy. God, she was pretty. Had Lucy been this hot in high school? Maybe he’d missed her because she was short—still was—but damn, those perfect curves made up for whatever she lacked in height. How had he only kissed her that one time?
    Owen backed up and stuck his hands in his pockets. Mildred was right. He didn’t need pretty right now. He didn’t need a complication. He just needed a place to figure out what the hell his next move was going to be. The Starlite Motel was as good a place as any, close enough to his mother, and quiet enough when the desk clerk wasn’t singing lousy opera at the top of her extremely loud lungs.
    Without meeting his eyes, Lucy said, “You can come look at it. Can you come back at five, when I close?”

Chapter Four
We can’t help but feel sorry, can we, for those who don’t knit? What do they do when they’re nervous? When they don’t know where to look? What is knitting if not directed fidgeting?
— E. C.
    L ucy flipped the Open sign to Closed. Although he was still a block away, she could see Owen approaching on foot. Punctual.
    What was she doing, anyway? Thinking about renting to him? After he’d graduated a year before her, she’d spent her senior year of high school—not to mention the first couple of years of college—trying to recover from him. Trying not to remember the kiss he’d given her, the one that had changed her completely. He’d disappeared without even saying good-bye.
    And he was even better looking now. How was that fair?
    Lucy held the door open for him.
    His eyes were much bluer today. She’d remembered that they were dark blue, but not how very deep, very dark they were—practically the color of the deep water out over the breakers. She’d never seen that particular shade on anyone else. And those lashes! She had to wear mascara every day to have any lashes at all.
    His mouth twitched.
    “What?” she asked.
    “You’re staring.”
    “Oh, sorry.” God, how embarrassing. She had to pull it together. “I’m just tired. I was just . . . um . . .” Lucy would be professional. This was business.
    Why had she decided to show him the parsonage?
    He nodded and stepped into the store, the slight limp marking his gait. Lucy turned her back to lead him and was conscious of what a rat’s nest her hair always looked like by the end of the workday.
    “Just through here.” She led him out through the middle of the store and turned left at the side door leading out of the transept.
    Owen paused behind her and looked up at the high ceiling vaults. “It doesn’t look like a bookstore. More like a . . . I don’t know.” He put a hand on the lintel. “I think I remember coming in here as a kid sometimes. It hasn’t changed much, huh?”
    Lucy smiled. “This is just the way my Grandma Ruby had it.” She loved her store at this time of day, when the sun was setting, the red-and-orange light streaming into the nave through the clerestory windows. It felt sanctified, like her